


Can't Get It Out of My Head

by RiverTalesien



Category: The 100 (TV), clexa - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Cheating, Do not repost anywhere without permission, F/F, Mental Illness, Misunderstandings, Overwork, Smut, The world is a mess, breakdowns, did i mention this is angsty, it might get fluffier, married clexa, no bad guys, they love one another so much it hurts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-02-25 22:57:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18711388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiverTalesien/pseuds/RiverTalesien
Summary: This one is for Randomgirlusername on the occasion of her birthday.  Hope you like!A little angst-fest as our girls work through a troubled time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Randomgirlusername](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randomgirlusername/gifts).



Across the leaf-strewn park on Noland Drive, past the lane of cherry blossoms and Japanese maple, Nyko’s café sat on cobblestone edge of Briar Lake. With worn brick façade covered in ivy, and a greenish tint to the lake-facing windows, the café shimmered like watery phosphorescence in the moonlight. 

Small round tables were set out on the café’s outdoor patio, draped in creamy linens, lit by bowls of floating candles. Wait staff hovered near the patio doors, dressed in crisp white shirts and black ties with black aprons. Inside the crowd was dwindling; the sound of the small jazz combo was clear over the cocktail conversations and clinking glasses. 

 

Close to nine and only one customer remained outside, staring into the bottom of a whiskey tumbler, ignoring the small plate of bread sticks at her elbow. Blonde hair fell in gentle curls around her pale shoulders; she wore a simple dress of blue satin, its plunging neckline offering a view of generous cleavage and a slim gold necklace dangling there. On the ring finger of her left hand was a simple gold band she rubbed at with her thumb. 

Footsteps approached and a chair was pulled out from the table. One of the wait staff, a woman with a long brown ponytail sat down and tapped at the candle bowl to get the woman’s attention.

 

“Clarke. You've been here two hours. She’s not coming." 

 

Looking up, blue eyes glistening, the woman swallowed, nodding.

 

“I should probably go." 

 

“If you want to a wait a half, I can drive you.” 

 

The blonde’s smile was full of self-loathing. 

 

“Did you know she proposed at this table?"

 

“I heard Bobo cried and spilled the dessert cart." 

 

Feeling a swell of panic, and tears threatening to spill over, Clarke sat up and looked around, almost frantic. 

 

“I really fucked up Rae.”

 

Raven shook her head, eyes full of a generous sympathy. 

 

“Clarke, it happened. Do you really think Lexa is going to throw away everything you two have over it? She knows you.” 

 

Clarke shook her head. 

 

“You didn’t see her that night, Rae. I never want to see that look again.” 

 

“Then don’t do it again." 

 

A shout from the kitchen had Raven standing. 

 

“I’ll be back, ok?”

 

Unable to look up, Clarke nodded. 

 

With Raven gone, Clarke settled back in her chair, drawing a breath, sniffing at the warm night air, doing her best to stay calm. She reached over to her purse on the next chair and checked her phone. No calls. No messages.

 

A soft movement through the trees by the lake caught her eye and she felt her heart contract.

 

How long had she been standing there, watching? 

 

Leaving her things behind, she rose as the other woman watched her, expressionless. 

 

Taking a few tentative steps, making sure she wasn't going to disappear, Clarke approached the woman slowly, her heart rising up her throat, as she got closer. 

 

She couldn’t remember ever seeing Lexa look so tired or so…blank. 

 

They were hardly a foot apart and Lexa’s eyes were on her, drifting up and down, lingering on her face. 

 

She looked as if she’d been sleeping in her clothes; everything about her seemed rumpled and worn. 

 

_Where have you been sleeping?_

 

Clarke knew better than to reach out; Lexa had to come to her, if that’s what she wanted. The other woman remained silent; the sadness of her eyes the only sense of communication. 

 

“Lexa I --" 

 

She was cut off by a slow shake of her wife’s head, and felt her heart pound against her chest as Lexa stepped forward, too close, and reached up to caress Clarke’s face, the gentleness in stunning relief to her lack of expression, the emptiness in her eyes. 

She looked at Clarke and touched her as though she were examining a strange artifact, her eyes following her hands as they drifted around Clarke's shoulders, down her arms, to her waist, and up, higher, settling against the fullness of her breasts, fingers tracing along the line of her dress. 

Clarke felt her breath still and her stomach tighten as she allowed the touching, couldn’t think what to say or how to stop, if she even wanted to stop. What did Lexa want? She just wanted to hear her voice. She wanted to beg forgiveness, anything.

 

“Lex --”

 

She looked up then, eyes hard this time, challenging her to speak again and Clarke’s lips parted, a painful breath held just there as Lexa’s hands ran down her front, to her waist and then spun her around, until her back was against Lexa’s front, pressed there, hard.

She felt hot breath on her shoulders and a slight shudder of anxiety and relief as Lexa toyed with her, squeezing her breasts, lips ghosting along her neck. 

From her new position, she could see into the cafe, the staff rushing to clear tables and prepare for closing. She hitched a breath as Lexa’s left hand explored lower, lifting the hem of her dress, higher until she could reach under and cup Clarke’s sex, drawing a gasp and a little alarm, hoping no one would turn their way. Hoping the darkness and the trees gave them enough cover. 

 

Reaching into Clarke’s panties, Lexa’s fingers dipped and stroked, emotionless. With one arm around Clarke’s waist, she almost held her up as the blonde’s head fell back a little, her breathing shallow, shivering with want. It felt like ages since Lexa had touched her, wanted to touch her. Her wife stroked harder, faster, until she could feel the anger in it, and she struggled not to make a sound, but she was so close.

 

“Did she do this?” 

 

The softness and smallness in Lexa’s voice betrayed her touch; Clarke felt the tears rise as she struggled not to break, as every inch of her trembled with desire and shame. 

 

“Did she make you come?” 

 

Clarke’s head shook back and forth, she couldn’t even remember that night, only the aftermath, waking naked, sick, wondering what she had done; wondering _why_. 

 

“She couldn’t, could she?” 

 

Lexa’s hand was hot, insistent. She pressed and stroked, harder and faster, reaching deeper and the arm around Clarke’s waist pulling tighter and tighter, warm breath against her ear. Clarke’s legs were growing weak; her chest heaving. She no longer cared if anyone saw. She wanted nothing more than to fall into Lexa, press and merge until they were one thing, unbroken. 

 

She was _close_. Her whimpers were tangled in sobs.

 

“Why?” 

 

So hard it hurt, Lexa stroked savagely across her clit and she shuddered heavily, as the orgasm took her with a moan more of anguish than pleasure.

 

Holding her, cupping her tightly, Lexa squeezed around her desperately, one hand drawing up through her dress, grasping her breasts, hips molding to Clarke’s backside as she lifted her slightly, torn between want and something she couldn't grasp.

Silent save for the war in her chest, the rough breath at her neck, Clarke softened.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

A long pause and then a sudden slack had Clarke reaching, clutching at Lexa’s arm to stay upright.

 

She couldn’t see, but she felt the change as Lexa withdrew, stepping backward, releasing her.

Clarke turned and felt the cold; Lexa’s eyes were on the ground, staring. She would not look up. 

 

“You're always apologizing, Clarke. I’m the one who wasn't there, right? Isn’t that why?” 

 

Raven’s voice from the patio made them both look up, and Clarke stepped forward.

 

“Just come home Lex. We'll talk. We have to talk.” 

 

When her father had died, Clarke’s grandmother had told her that pain is always a reflection and you can see your own in everyone who loves you, in everyone who really _sees_ you. 

 

“I’m not ready. Not yet." 

 

Watching Lexa walk away, Clarke felt nothing but the rage of her body, reminding her of everything she’d ever wanted, all she would give up to have it back, all the hurt undone.

 

“Clarke?" 

 

Raven came up, cautious, holding her coat and purse. 

 

Torn between wanting to follow and wishing the Earth would swallow her up, Clarke nodded. She needed to move, but it felt as if she could grow roots on the spot and never leave. 

 

Raven’s gentle hand on her arm steered her away, out of the trees toward the parking lot and the car and a way home. 

 

Stopping at the door to lift her face to the cooling breeze, she looked out at the water: lonely canoes and rowboats moored at the dock, a single swan gliding into the darkness, swallowed whole in a sea of stars.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback. This chapter takes place almost a year before chapter 1.
> 
> We learn a little more about their relationship, some of Lexa's struggles and where things started to unravel. 
> 
>  
> 
> Another reminder, this story is *meant* to be angsty and it is fiction, so if that's not your cup of tea, might want to skip. This story delves into issues involving mental health, overwork and the misunderstandings that can arise, even between two people who are very much in love. 
> 
>  
> 
> I'll be adding more tags as the story progresses, so please keep an eye out.

“You didn’t show."

 

Sitting in the dark, wrapped in her old bathrobe, Lexa stared out the screen door, where a family of moths had come to rest. The house was cooler in the evening, but only just and all the windows were open, allowing the night breeze to drift through. Her hands twisted in her lap, restless.

 

Standing in the doorway to the kitchen, Clarke was still in her evening clothes and heels, tugging small ruby gems from her ears. 

 

The voice from the couch was faint, distracted. “I forgot, I'm sorry."

 

Pulling off her shoes, Clarke entered the living room, and dropped gracelessly into a chair. She felt tired, deep in her bones, as she watched her wife of four years sink further into the bottomless recesses of her mind. 

 

“Will you come with me to see the therapist tomorrow?” 

 

Lexa did not move or look her way; she did not seem to hear her. 

 

“Lex, please.” 

 

“She’ll want me back on lithium. I don't want to be on anything anymore." 

 

“You were doing fine...”

 

Lexa’s eyes were still trained on the floor, but one shaky arm waved shakily in Clarke's direction.

 

“I was doing it for you. I wasn’t _fine_."

 

Clarke sat forward, her expression pleading for her wife’s attention.

 

“I never asked you to do anything but take care of yourself, Lex. To not listen to those voices in your head. Those voices are liars.” 

 

“I know.” 

 

Clarke felt her heart sink at the hollowness in Lexa’s reply and in her eyes. She wanted to do something but worried she was out of ideas. Worried their time was running out. Worried about making phone calls and signing papers. Sometimes it seemed like there was nothing but devastation ahead. 

 

“I love you, Lex.”

 

She knew better, but she couldn’t stop herself. She wanted her wife so much, to know she was still there, that she wanted Clarke too; wanted to love her. 

 

Silent, unable to meet Clarke’s look, Lexa rose and left the room, disappearing downstairs toward the basement.

 

As if an invisible weight had fallen and taken her with it, Clarke let the tears rise and felt her body wrack with stabs of grief and helplessness. 

 

_What do I do?_

 

Tired as she was, she couldn’t bear the thought of another night in their bed, alone. She drew herself up in the chair, holding herself, trying to keep her thoughts a blank, praying for sleep to take her. 

The buzzing of the phone in her purse had her up and she sighed at the caller ID, composing herself a little and answered.

 

A woman’s voice on the other end sounded apologetic.

 

“So sorry to be calling you so late, Dr. Griffin, but they brought Maya Jordan in tonight and she coded in the ambulance.”

“Who’s on tonight?”

“Stevens, but we’ve got multiple GSWs coming in.”

“Did you get my mother?” 

“She’s ten minutes out."

“I’m on my way.” 

 

Shaking off her exhaustion and grabbing her keys, she thought of rushing down to tell Lexa, but knew there wouldn’t be an answer. She scribbled a note instead and headed out the door. 

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dozing on a couch in the all-call room, Clarke was startled to full wakefulness by the smell of coffee wafting under her nose.

 

“Hey Griff.”

 

Sitting up in her rumpled blue scrubs, she pawed at her face, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and accepted the offered cup.

 

“Jesus Murphy, what time is it?”

 

The stubble-faced nurse checked his phone.

 

“7:42 in the a and the m.”

“Oh god.” 

“Just wanted you to know Jordan’s surgery went without a hitch. Your mom brought her A game once again. You should go home.” 

 

A surge of hopelessness hit her at the word _home_. 

 

_What kind of home do I have anymore?_

 

Noticing her turn to silence, Murphy sat down beside her.

 

“How’s Lex doing?”

 

Shaking her head, Clarke leaned back, holding the warm cup to her chest. 

 

“She’s fine.”

 

She knew Murphy saw right through her, but she wasn’t ready. She did need to go home. 

 

“Let me know if you need anything, alright doc?” 

 

Squeezing her knee, he rose and headed toward the door.

 

“Thanks, Murphy. I’ll go check on Maya before I head out.” 

 

“Jasper’s up there. He was really happy you came." 

 

She nodded and watched as he disappeared, then reached for her phone on the coffee table. 

No calls. No messages.

 

_She doesn’t even known I've gone._

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

When she walked back in the house, now almost 9 am, bone-tired, she noticed immediately how clean everything looked. A bottle of Windex sat on the kitchen counter. The floors looked freshly mopped and the shelves dusted. 

She looked closely at the windows and saw they too, had been thoroughly cleaned. 

 

Slipping her shoes off, she headed upstairs to their bedroom, knowing it would be immaculate as well.

 

The morning was beginning to warm up and the windows had been left open, allowing a sweet spring breeze with a faint scent of lavender to waft through. The bed was made and turned down on her side and a glass of water with bottle of Tylenol was sitting on her bedside table. Her nightgown was laid out on the bed. 

She imagined Lexa was probably downstairs in her office again, maybe she was writing. 

Maybe not.

She hardly saw her in their room anymore, hadn’t for almost four months since she stopped her meds and refused to go back on them. Lexa stayed in her office, wouldn’t let her in, barely spoke to her, never touched her. She still had another six months of sabbatical from work; she had told everyone she was going to write The Great American Novel and Clarke had been excited for her. That’s all Lexa had ever wanted to do, but her parent’s demand she join the family firm had taken precedence; now with her father gone, she was able to negotiate time away. It seemed like such a wonderful plan.

But no sooner had the “sabbatical” begun she had thrown away her meds and stopped seeing Dr. Reese. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Wearier than she could remember, Clarke slipped off her scrubs and walked into their bathroom and started the shower. The hot water felt amazing and she just stood there for a few minutes, letting it pass over her, relaxing into spray. 

It had been at least six months since she and Lexa had had sex. The shower had become her place of release and she reclined against the wall a little, raising tired arms to caress the weight of her breasts, missing her wife’s touch. She closed her eyes and tried to conjure her there, cupping her face, soft lips against hers, against her jaw, her neck, and her shoulders. Heat flushed through her belly as she reached between her legs, touching softly, trying to remember the feel of her wife’s mouth, how she would gaze up at her, her eyes so full of love and want and she swore that look alone could make her come, but it wouldn’t happen. She struggled, rubbing harder, but she was already so tired and she couldn’t. She felt so heavy and incomplete, like a permanent emptiness had settled within her.

As she turned off the water and made to step from the shower, she nearly jumped in shock at Lexa standing there, watching her, silent. She was holding a towel and her eyes were downcast, but full of apology. 

Without a word, she began drying Clarke, working gently first through her hair, smoothing out the tangles, then down her shoulders and arms, rubbing gently. She knelt as she wiped the water from her breasts and hips, down her legs and patted softly between her thighs. 

 

Reaching out, Clarke ran her fingers through Lexa’s scalp; a familiar heat filling her belly, pulling at every nerve. 

 

_I have always wanted you._

 

She drew Lexa forward, her face pressed into the supple flesh of her stomach; the moment became so still, even as her wife drew tender circles along her legs and thighs. 

 

“If you need, I can --” 

 

“It’s okay. I just want to get some sleep.” 

 

“I want to.” 

 

The green eyes looking up at her were not pleading or hungry, not clouded over with want. The ache in Clarke’s center felt tethered to the ache in her heart. 

 

_You used to look at me as if I was your last meal. You’d almost eat me alive._

 

“It’s really okay.”

 

“It would help you sleep.”

 

_Will it help you?_

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She lay still in the bed, eyes closed as Lexa’s mouth worked against her, tongue tracing her outer lips, circling in until lathing long, flat strokes from her entrance to her clit. Pressing hard then soft, a perfect, slow build-up that had Clarke's hips thrusting involuntarily. Lexa's mouth always left her a quivering, needy mess. 

 

“I’m close…I'm…" 

 

A muffled moan was swallowed into the back of her throat as she tensed. The dense thrill of pleasure suffusing her bones, traveling from the thick of Lexa’s tongue up her spine to explode, gently, behind her eyes.

As she relaxed into the sheets, limbs and senses like warm jelly, she opened her eyes to Lexa’s, shimmering from between her thighs, pressing a delicate kiss to her cleft before rising, covering her, leaving the room without a sound.

 

A part of her wanted to scream and claw, make her come back; but exhaustion had set in and the sun was rising. 

She slept and did not dream. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, let me know if you like and if you have questions or comments leave them here or find me on Tumblr @rivertalesien. Thank you for reading!
> 
> This one is for @randomgirlusername, and I hope you still like. :-)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deeper look inside Lexa's troubled mind and how this is and will affect her relationship with Clarke.
> 
>  
> 
> TW: This story does deal with mental illness and settings in psychiatric facilities. I try not to go into too much detail, but if you are triggered by anything related, this might not be the story for you.

“How long has she been gone?"

 

Eyes red-rimmed from days of too much work and no sleep, Clarke had curled into the stuffed chair like a child, clutching a small pillow like a doll.

 

“Nine days.”

 

Looking almost as exhausted in her scrubs, Dr. Abby Griffin slumped in her desk chair and reached for a folder before deciding against it. Her daughters were in pain and she didn’t know what to do.

 

“Did Anya tell you where she was?”

 

“She’s staying with Indra. She’s ok." 

 

Abby shook her head, anger settling in.

 

“She’s not ok, Clarke. She’s been regressing since she went off the meds and she’s going to end up in the ICU again and if she does, that means lockdown and if Reese signs off, that could mean having her committed--”

 

Clarke's jaw grew hard as she threw her mother a withering stare. 

 

“That is _not_ going to happen, mom. She just needs some time. Indra will take care of her and she will go back to Reese and we’ll start again.”

 

“It’s not going to be that simple, Clarke."

 

Throwing up her hands, Clarke shook her head.

“Nothing ever is, but she’s _Lexa_ , mom. I'm not giving up and I know she doesn’t want to."

 

Abby nodded. She couldn’t help the frustration of not being able to help her only child through a waking nightmare. 

 

“You two have been inseparable since you were kids. Since she threw that letter opener at that little shit Quint when he was bullying you.”

 

Clarke felt a small laugh bubble up at the memory.

 

“It was a plastic opener. She never hurt him.”

 

“She wanted to. What was it you said she hissed at him? Hit her and I’ll hit you?”

 

“No, it was like, attack her, you attack me. She was so ready to throw down and he was like twice her size.”

 

Abby laughed. “He didn't bother you after that though did he?”

 

Clarke shook her head, her thoughts drifting happily into the past.

 

“Nope. She was scary when she wanted to be.”

 

“She never hurt you, did she Clarke?"

 

Rounding on her mother, Clarke almost jumped out of her skin.

 

“You know she never has. She’s not a violent person, mom.”

 

“Against herself she is.”

Running her hands through messy locks, Clarke let her head fall back against the cushions.

 

“She’s not going to hurt herself, she is not going to hurt me. We’re going to get her stable again and she’s going to come home and it's going to be ok. I have to believe that mom, do you understand? I don't really need anymore talk. I just need you to be there for me. Can you do that? Just be there, ok? That’s all I need." 

 

Abby sat up and walked over to Clarke, crouching before her. 

 

“I love you sweetheart. I’m here. For both of you. I promise.”

 

Reaching out, Clarke clung to her mother, muffling her sobs into her shoulder. 

 

“I’m here, baby. I'm always here."

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

 

The sky was too big. It was too much.

 

She could remember being seven or eight and finding the stars and the movement of clouds the most amazing thing. She would lie on the grass in the backyard and see how many she could count. Later, she would look up the names of the constellations, having them all memorized by her tenth birthday.

It didn’t hurt that Clarke loved them as well and loved to talk about them. She could talk about space as if she’d live there. She could talk about the moons of Jupiter and loved to plan her own mission to Mars.

 

“We’ll live in a lava tube, Lexa. We’ll be safer there.” 

 

Nothing seemed safe now, as she looked out the window of her old bedroom, as the sky seemed to be getting closer and wider: ready to swallow her up. It felt like the first time she ever dove in the ocean, how deep she went, how dark it became. How small she really was.   
And so very cold.

 

She had to hide or Clarke would see how small, how wrong, how pointless she was. Clarke would be better off without her anyway. No more stressing over her clothes, or being annoyed at her not wanting to go out. No more frustration over when she forgot things like appointments and birthday parties. Clarke didn’t need the burden of making sure her grown adult wife remembered to brush her teeth or eat something healthy. 

Clarke didn’t need a useless, untalented mess taking up space in her home.

 

_Their_ home.

 

Clarke’s home.

 

_She looks at you sometimes like she wishes you were dead._

 

Tears are threatening as she tries to push down the Liar. 

 

_She loves me. I love her so much. Clarke loves me._

 

The Liar gives no quarter.

 

_Loves you so much she’s happy you're gone. She's relieved. She can invite one of her nurses over for a wild fuck, the kind you never give her. She tells them about you. How you can’t do it for her. How sad you are. You’ve never made her cum, you know that? She just plays nice and makes those pretty noises. She’s making fun of you, don’t you get it?_

 

As much as she wanted to crawl out of her skin and slip into the Earth, she straightened. This is the low point, she thinks. This is it. It’s not going to get any lower. Just walk it off. You can do that. Walk out the door and walk it off.

 

Reese was always telling her to get out everyday, walk everyday, just put one foot in front of the other and take a step. And then take another. And then another. _Once you’re walking, the Liar has to keep up and the Liar can never keep up._

 

She was out the door before she knew it, out on the front porch, down the steps and into the driveway. She’d made it to the mailbox. The sidewalk was right there. The streetlights were dim but lit and mosquitoes fluttered in their halos. No traffic noises. No stereos with thumping basses. She could do this. 

The quick march of her long legs quickly gave way to a sprint as the road curved uphill toward the old park with its splintered wooden benches and rope swings. She slowed as she entered the trees, her fight or flight response gone slack as she turned her head this way and that for any sign of strangers in the dark. By the broken water wheel a couple were fucking hard and desperate in the sawdust, pushing at one another in angry abandon. Lexa kept on over the hill, to the wooden gate that closed off the road down to the lake. 

She’d taken Clarke there, so many times. 

Picnics and boat rides that ended in hidden clearings, shadowed by trees as they made love in quilts of pine needles and maple leaves; splinters of sunlight or moonlight covering them as they slept, wrapped so tightly to one another, an ouroboros of lust.

 

The sky was slipping past the clouds out into the open, its mouth growing wider as she reached the lake, its reflection swallowing itself before her. 

She felt it all then, the flutter inside, the sudden horror of all the nothing in the world and she knew if she kept looking, if she stopped, it would swallow her too and there would be nothing left but the scream that she kept pushed down inside.

 

So she ran, her mind drawing on fetid empty springs for something simple: the Ipod Gus got her for her 12th birthday, all the songs he loaded for her, showing her own to use it, the expensive earphones that made her head look three sizes too big. 

No, not good enough.

Clarke’s ankle when she sprained it at summer camp and you held a bag of melting ice to it and how red her cheeks were as she tried not to look at you. 

Or your first tattoos, inked together the lines of that poem you always liked: on the inside of your right arm _You are the sky_ and the inside of her left _And I am for you._

 

Not good enough. Not good enough.

 

There was no comfort in it, not even the memory of her body, smooth and soft; the wispy hairs over the tops of her thighs, the tenderness of her ear lobes, suckled sweetly against filthy whispers and fingers trapped in sticky lace as they teased and that wonderful tension that was almost too good to release.

 

No comfort. 

 

It felt like all the nothing in the world, and there was no end of it and there would never be anything else.

 

She’d run too far in the dark, back up the hill, into the trees again, blind as she hit the tall metal door, clutching at rusted screws and she wanted to slam herself against it again and again, _open open open please._

Open so I don’t have to do this. 

Open so I don’t have to leave her.

Open so she won’t look at me like that ever again.

Open please.

Please.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------

 

“I just want to see her, I’m her wife. _She’s my wife._ I have a right to see her.”

 

“Let her in Greg.”

 

Dr. Reese appeared from behind the security partition, looking harried and small in her pajama pants and overcoat, her credentials hung loosely around her neck. 

Clarke was holding hers up to the security window but her arm dropped as soon as Reese waved her through. 

“Police brought her in, she was spotted by a couple on Moon Hill around two a.m. They said she was pounding on the door of one of the old gardener’s sheds and wouldn’t calm down. I’ve given her Ativan and she’s resting now. Except for a few scrapes on her hands, she’s physically ok.” 

Reese gestured to the room at the end of the lockdown ward. 

 

“I’ll wait for you in the office and we’ll talk.”

 

Clarke nodded as she turned away and slowly pushed open the door. 

 

It was a small, narrow room with a simple bathroom/shower near the door and one window surrounded by metal bars. In the farthest corner was a single bed and Lexa lay on it, dressed in scrubs with a thin blanket covering her up to her shoulders. 

 

Clarke took off her own coat and laid it over Lexa’s frame.

 

_You always get so cold._

 

She wanted nothing more than to crawl into the bed beside her and keep her warm, to feel her, to give her whatever comfort she could. 

Stroking her hair and her cheek, Clarke knelt on the floor until she could put their foreheads together, until she could feel Lexa’s warm breath against her lips.

 

_You are the love of my life._

 

_Why am I not enough?_

\----------------------------------------------------------

 

She struggled to stay upright in the uncomfortable chair she’d taken from the lounge. She was determined to be there when Lexa woke, knowing how disorientated and anxious she would be if she woke up to strangers. 

Her eyes felt like they were sealing themselves shut as she sipped at the cold coffee, the rim of the Styrofoam cup deformed from where her teeth had been gnawing. 

_At least she is sleeping. She needs this rest so bad._

 

“Doctor Griffin?”

The young attendant didn’t look much more than 15.

 

“Yeah?"

 

“You've got a page in the office. Urgent.”

 

Clarke reached in her pocket for her phone and signed at the dead battery. 

_Not now please._

 

It was Murphy.

 

“I really hate getting you up but we’ve been trying to reach you for the last 30 minutes. We got a major warehouse fire took out some houses too. Casualties are poring in. We really need you.” 

_Goddamn it._

 

“I’m in psych so I’ll be down in five.” 

 

Dropping the phone, she dashed back to Lexa’s room to see if she'd woken yet. 

She knelt again and ran her hands through the tangled locks. She pressed her lips to warm cheeks and whispered against her ear. 

 

“I love you so much. I will be back. I promise. Everything is gonna be ok. I love you Lex.”

 

\-----------------------------------------------

 

The sun was setting behind the faded coffee shop sign as Lexa looked out from between the window bars. 

She couldn’t remember arriving and the psych nurse explained four times already that Reese was in an emergency and Clarke had never signed in to see her. She wasn’t answering her phone.

She could have called Anya or Indra but it felt pointless. Why worry them. Why add more to their lives. They have their own shit. 

It’ll be ok, she told herself. 

72-hour lockdown and you can go. 

 

_Go where?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always appreciated, so please leave your thoughts here or over at Tumblr @rivertalesien. Thanks so much for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Wanna say hello? Tumblr: @rivertalesien
> 
> Please be sure to let me know if you like. Thanks for reading!


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